Absolution
by Xendell
Summary: [ Sequel to The Demoted ] As the dust settles, Morrison tries to regain all that he has lost, starting again from the bottom. However with Lena on his trail, he soon finds nothing is as it should be. The very foundations of his life are shaking, and every time he sees Tracer's face, something in his timeline has changed...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: In the end, I got a ton of requests for a sequel to the Demoted, and who am I to resist that? I am incredibly grateful for the overwhelming response and I hope you guys will like this story as well. However if the Demoted was not your cup of tea, this is not going to be either. Fair warnings :)  
If you haven't, please read "The Demoted" first otherwise you're going to have no idea what's going on.  
Enjoy!

* * *

3 AM.

A forgotten cup of coffee stood on the edge of the worn metal table, slowly going cold. The edges of the paper were stained, but Morrison didn't care as he continued reading, signing the bold edge at the bottom of the page with practiced ease. The stack of paper was meticulously packed together and then joined with the knee-high stack at his side.

He looked out of the square window, the edges of the old wood of the windowsill starting to crack. The paint was peeling, and on the wall one could see the vague shadow of graffiti that had been cleaned and only half-heartedly painted over. He called it his office, nowadays. When he squinted, he could see a few stars in the pitch-black, clear skies.

He should sleep. There would be another day tomorrow, with more endlessly tiring paperwork and government officials to deal with. As he ran his hand idly through what was left of his hair he realized how _glad_ he was to be done with most of the legal bureaucracy that came with his attempt at reviving Overwatch.

Well, it had been an attempt, all right. Of course he'd preferred to just _convict_ Lacroix without 37 casualties, of whom 4 ministers. Morrison sighed, rubbing his eyes, the calloused skin on his fingertips rough against his brow. Angela would not have condoned naming it Overwatch's 'revival', he thought sourly. If she had, she would have been here right now. Not ran off with the Amari kid to God-knows-where. But she had. All of them had. It was just him, in his rickety chair by his table with enough paperwork to have wasted a forest. Did none of these people know about digitalization?

You know why, he immediately chastised himself. Fear. People became paranoid, fearful of new Omnic attacks. Madmen preaching that everything and anything could be hacked, that no home with electricity was safe. While technically a bad development, right now it worked in his favor. It had been the only reason he'd been pardoned for the illegal Overwatch activity. Because right now, the government needed strong fighters against the Omnics. And so Overwatch was "revived", a one-man army in a tiny office at 3 AM.

'Still working?'

He turned around to see Ana smiling softly as she stood in the doorway.

'Just finishing up,' he replied, tucking a few random papers together and getting up. 'What brings you here so late?'

'You,' she replied unapologetically, 'after all, you always needed someone to take care of you.'

He wanted to argue, but she was right. She always was.

.

Once they reached their apartment - a tiny two bedroom studio, with a living room that doubled as a kitchen, on the outskirts of Vienna - Ana went straight to her room and closed the door behind her. A mumbled 'Goodnight' was all he got, and he didn't expect more. The summer heat was sweltering and he went to open the tall wooden windows. A cool breeze drew in from over the rooftops of the more luxurious housing below. Fraying white curtains drawn aside, he heard the familiar creaking of Ana's bed, and took a deep breath. As he turned back, he took off his shirt, and threw it in a corner. He'd clean it later. The other shirts, strewn about the same corner, he ignored.

There was a laptop on the kitchen counter, and the urge to finish just a couple of things overwhelming. The screen came to life as he folded it open, and he winced against the bright light. There were 487 unread emails in his inbox. Might as well work through some of them, he figured, as he pulled a stool closer.

He scrolled through the work mails, the endless requests for information and interviews, until his cursor stopped on a particular e-mail. The mail came from Angela's personal account, and had no subject line. Narrowing his eyes, he clicked the email to open it.

The email was completely empty, apart from an attachment. There was a sound file, with a generic file name, recorded with some sort of mobile device. Morrison couldn't imagine Angela being stupid enough to get hacked or to send him spam, but on the other hand, she'd _never_ send an email without some form of properly formulated greeting.

A red dot flashed briefly over the screen before disappearing. Morrison rolled instinctively into cover behind the kitchen counter, gun drawn, whole body taut. He peered through the window, looking for the familiar metallic glitter of a sniper on a rooftop. Except there was no rooftop, just the clear sky. Unsettled, he lowered his gun.

Could it just have been a mirage? Something his brain made up out of sheer fatigue? Ana would tell him he was getting old. He'd always brush it off, but it gnawed at him. As he got up, he had to support himself on the kitchen counter with one hand. Pathetic.

He sat back down, checking the room over his shoulder twice. Suddenly the open window didn't seem pleasant anymore, he felt exposed, his back open. This building had withstood wars from before Omnics even existed, and the walls wouldn't stop an array of bullets anyway, so closing the window would make little difference if someone wanted him dead. Unfortunately, that list of people was steadily growing. He put his gun next to the laptop, close to his hand. It never hurt to keep it close.

He turned down the sound before opening the sound file Angela had sent. He leaned in to the computer, keeping it almost quiet, in order not to wake Ana. The file started with some static, but then Angela's quivering voice was clearly audible.

'Morrison, I'm not sure if I should send this,' she croaked, a rustling in the background and more static following, the sound as if she was brusquely walking through a very tall pile of leaves. 'But things have gone- well- you know. Bad. It's all very bad.' Angela took a deep breath and the static momentarily ceased. Her voice was fainter now, but he could hear her calling out, before moving the recording device closer to her mouth again.

'Anyhow, I wasn't planning to- to contact you. But, well, I think you should know. Fareeha? Fareeha, is that you?' Hasty footsteps and a crackling static followed. She sounded confused and upset, like she'd been rambling to herself and decided to record it anyway. 'We saw Lena. Right before we left. Well - she wasn't Lena. But she's after you, Morrison. She might be after us too.'

Angela's breathing was frantic, but her voice was steady. 'People don't just disappear like this. You've got to be around here somewhere, verdammt.' More muttering. 'Watch out for her, Jack. She's dangerous. Look for the red light. She looks, she, well, sort of like- Oh God, Fareeha! Oh danke Gott, oh liebe -' the sound file cut off abruptly, leaving Morrison increasingly uneasy.

He listened to the sound file twice more. The first time, he tried to hear every single detail. The second time, he just buried his face in his hands and wondered if this was worth it. Perhaps she'd panicked. Perhaps she hadn't meant to send this email at all.

Perhaps he didn't need Angela to send him mysterious soundfiles that raised more questions than they goddamn answered. Frankly, he could care less about what happened to her right now - even though a friend and colleague, she'd left him to rot twice now. At least she'd _revived_ Gabriel.

Morrison allowed himself a momentary indulging in how terribly unfair it all was, instantly feeling better.

'Ana,' he yelled over his shoulder, not really caring if she was asleep or not, 'Ana, you should check on your daughter.'

'Jack, I swear to all that is holy,' Ana croaked from her room, 'if you don't go to bed right now I will get over there and dart you so bad you'll sleep for the rest of the week.'

'Roger that,' he replied, even though the prospect of being sleepdarted for elongated periods of time suddenly seemed rather attractive. He flipped the laptop shut - problems for another day - and turned to get ready for bed. In the corner of his eye, a red flash moved across the glass of the open window. Morrison froze.

This time, he was sure it hadn't been a mirage. He'd seen it. Carefully gripping his gun, he stalked towards the window. As he looked down, a blue car turned and rode around the corridor. The red taillights contrasting sharply against the dim streetlight. Slowly, Jack let out a sigh.

Paranoid, over exhausted. He _was_ seeing things. Heightened senses were nice in battle, but right now they were destroying whatever sanity he had left. The corner by the kitchen counter, which he'd left only seconds ago, seemed more shadowed than before, but he ignored it. He resolutely set down his gun and closed the window, reassuring himself that he would not believe in ghosts more than twice a night.

Until the shadow wore a bone pale, skull-shaped mask and rasped, 'Hello, Jack.'

A shot rang out from behind that knocked his gun out of reach, and Jack whipped around to see Tracer, now bathed in red light, her gun aimed at where his weapon had been. 'Hiya,' she greeted, in the most monotone voice he'd ever heard her use. His gun lay in front of Ana's bedroom door. If only he could reach it.

'I think you know why we are here,' Reaper stepped forward, shotguns lazily in both hands. He circled Morrison once, chuckling quietly. 'Surprised?'

'I'd expected you for years, Gabe,' Morrison said, going through any escape plans in his head. Ana had her rifle in her room. If she woke, which she probably would soon, they'd be evenly matched. He just needed to stall until he could get back to his weapon. 'I just didn't expect you to bring a plus one. Can't kill me by yourself, can you?'

Reaper shuddered and leapt forward, bone mask only inches from his nose. If Jack looked down, he'd probably see those shotguns aimed at his chest. As expected. What was strange, was the strangled noise that came from Tracer.

'Back off, Reaper.' She said it with such determination, the contrast couldn't be stronger with her impassive face. When she continued, her voice matched her blank expression one more, flat and monotone. 'You'll get your chance. Once I'm done.'

With a growl, Reaper stepped back. Morrison couldn't help but raise a brow, which earned him another shotgun aimed at the face. He feigned shock, and sidestepped, inching closer to his gun. His chances of survival were slim, but he at least had to try. For Ana. For Overwatch.

'You'll die, but not before you suffer like I did.' Tracer said resolutely. She looked from his gun to his face and back, then raised her own weapon. 'Remember me, Jack. Every time you see me, your fate is just about to get worse.'

Jack did not reply. He ducked, rolled backwards and grabbed his gun. He shot two rounds at Reaper, who swirled around him like smoke and then vanished, then banged his fist on the door loudly. 'Ana!'

Tracer kept her guns trained on him, but only chuckled. 'Go on. Where is she?' Her outline started to fade from view, her image flickering like a dying light. Morrison backed up, blindly feeling for the door handle. As he threw the door open behind him, Tracer blinked, engulfed by red light, and disappeared. He rolled inside, ready to shoot if either of them reappeared, and felt his feet slip on a thick layer of dust.

Then he looked around. The room was unfurnished, dust and cobwebs everywhere, only an empty soda can in a corner, moldy around the edges. No bed. No clothes. No Ana.

Jack slowly straightened his back, chills running up and down his spine like thunderstorms. 'Ana?' he called out, quietly at first, and when no answer came, louder. He kicked the dust, panic setting in.

'Amari? Amari, answer me, damn it!'

 _People don't just disappear like this._

Angela. He needed Angela, right now. Clutching his weapon close, he ran over to the kitchen, and turned his backpack upside down over the counter. A myriad of belongings fell out, spilling out and clattering to the floor, but he didn't care. He found his phone in the heap and quick-dialed Ziegler's personal number. As he held the device to his ear, he sank to the ground, his back against the cold kitchen counter. As the phone rang, he muttered a single hope, trying to calm his racing heart.

'Please pick up. For the love of God, don't let me down again.'


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Oh my gosh, that took way too long. Thank you for being patient with me.

* * *

The streets of Numbani were bathed in sunlight, highlighting the beauty of the architectural marvels. Each street was carefully designed, streamlined to perfection, and meticulously kept clean. Angela found herself timidly holding onto the fabric of Fareeha's sleeve, crushing the fabric between her fingers without grabbing hold of her arm.

'Maybe the heat and stress got to you,' Fareeha smiled, pacing slowly so Angela could keep up. 'I told you I'd stay in the outpost for an extra day, didn't I? You'd have some time to yourself, like you asked.'

'I thought we decided to leave the outpost together, we-,' Angela struggled with her words, then shook her head. 'Never mind. I guess you are right.'

They strolled along the gold-bathed pavement in silence. Fareeha glanced at her companion, trying to read her face. Angela seemed calm, for now, if not a bit jumpy. She relaxed her bicep to give the woman more room to hold onto her, and felt Angela creep just that tad bit closer.

'It's not strange that you panicked after everything that happened,' she started, but the doctor immediately interrupted her.

'Please don't,' Angela muttered. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

'It's really alright, Angela,' Fareeha tried gently, but Angela would have none of it. She could tell Angela was getting agitated again, however good her intentions may be.

'I didn't mean to panic anyway. And it's all fine now.' Angela nodded to herself, as if trying to convince her own mind. It took her a couple of nods before it began to take effect.

'Yeah,' Fareeha decided to agree. It had been rather strange to run into another Helix veteran at the outpost, but she didn't mind fate granting her a favour for once. After spending some time traveling, and then finding residency in Numbani, they were rapidly running out of money. Doing some work for Helix would keep her off the streets, and earn them some cash. They would need it soon enough. They talked about this. Angela had agreed, hadn't she?

Yet when she arrived in the city, Angela had jumped into her arms as if she'd been missing for days. Sure – the woman was shaken up and traumatized and had a lot to work through, but it simply didn't add up. Something gnawed at Fareeha's mind, but she couldn't place what it was exactly.

'So next week I'll be moving out with Helix for a few days. After that, we could find a more permanent place to stay?' She said, trying to shift the subject to something more lighthearted.

'I thought you weren't going to accept the Helix job?' Angela turned to her, brows furrowed.

'Yes I am-' Fareeha sputtered, trying not to show the confusion and irritation on her face, as Angela's phone suddenly rang. Angela excused herself as she picked it up, walking a few steps away from her to get some privacy on the phone. Fareeha could still hear her, but pretended not to listen, her arms crossed over her chest as she waited. She observed the blonde from the corner of her eye.

'Angela Ziegler speaking- oh. Yes. Morrison.' She was silent for a moment as the other end answered.

'The email? No- I, but- well- it's all solved now-' Angela had a habit of gesturing with her hands as she spoke, even while on the phone. She laughed apologetically and tried to wave away her words, even though the other couldn't see her.

'No, no, you really don't need to worry- what?' She suddenly stiffened, glancing from her feet to Fareeha and then averted her gaze. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, more concerned.

'In your home? And now?' She paled a bit, nodded as the other end answered, and murmured in agreement as the conversation progressed. Finally she straightened her back, and nodded.

'I see. No, Fareeha is fine. I'll ask her, yes. Thank you. I'll be vigilant. _Wiedersehen_.'

Fareeha didn't want to have to ask who it was, so she gave Angela an accusing look until she caved.

'It was Morrison. Fareeha, dear, could you do me favour?' Angela talked over her before she could respond, and put her phone back in her bag, unaffected by Fareeha's raised brow.

'Of course.'

'Could you call your mother for me?' Angela had the audacity to bat her eyelids at the request. Fareeha spat an affronted half-laugh.

' _Why_?'

'Just tell her you're checking in because you're such a good daughter.' Angela crossed her arms too, but she was not nearly as tall as the other woman, so it wasn't quite as imposing. 'Morrison asked me to. If you don't do it, I will – which will be even weirder. Your choice.'

'Ah, you strike a tough bargain, Angela.' Fareeha lamented as she pulled out her phone, dialed a number and held it to her face. 'You really owe me for this, I swear- oh, hi mom. Yes, it's me.'

Angela's face lightened with relief. Fareeha had never been more confused.

.

Morrison barricaded the door and windows in the small apartment. Whatever furniture he'd had, it was now used to barricade any possible entrance. He had his gun pressed closed to his chest, his phone near him. He tried to calm his frantic breath, but couldn't help jumping at every shadow. It was almost dawn when his phone rang again.

He picked it up with a gruff voicing of his name. On the other side of the line, he heard the crisp voice of the younger Amari.

'Commander Morrison? This is Fareeha Amari, dr. Ziegler asked me to call you back.'

'Yes?'

'You have no need to worry. My mother is on her way to you now. She seemed a little concerned. Are you sure you are okay?'

'On her way from where?' Morrison growled. There was a short silence on the other side.

'I'm sorry, what do you mean?' Fareeha tried, but Morrison had no patience for politeness.

'I said, _from where. She was right here just minutes ago._ '

'Excuse me for a second,' Fareeha said, and he heard a muffled exchange on the other side of the line. At that moment, the front door creaked. Morrison rolled into cover, gun trained on the barricaded front door.

'Jack? What in the world is going on?' Ana's voice was clear from behind the barricade. Morrison broke the connection, then slowly lowered his gun. He was quite unsure if this was somehow a mirage too.

'I should be asking you that! Where the hell did you disappear off to?' He barked at her through the door, hesitant to remove the barricade. He'd looked at her room a thousand times. All her belongings were gone. Belongings did not just disappear into thin air. Ana tried the door again, rattling the handle.

'Jack!' Ana said, a tremble of anxiousness in her voice. 'Don't be ridiculous, I just arrived-'

'DON'T LIE TO ME!' Jack roared, his breath labored. His pupils were dilated, fear and rage alternating in electric spikes through his body. He still saw the ghostly image of Gabriel, so close, so close he could almost taste him – and yet again he'd gotten away. He saw the empty gaze of that girl, that Oxton, she would be trouble. He stared at the door as the dots connected in his mind. Belongings did not just disappear- unless they were never there in the first place. Oh, she would be trouble indeed.

With the butt of his rifle, he rammed into his makeshift barricade, smashing most of it aside.

'It's that girl, Ana! It's her!' He growled, jerking open the door, taking with it one of its hinges. He didn't care. Didn't care about the look of pure confusion on Ana's face.

'Where are you going?' Ana tried, but he rushed past her, stomping down the hallway.

'I am going to _murder Lena Oxton!'_

.

'You let her do _what?_ ' Sombra's voice rose a few pitches higher than usual. Reaper threw his cloak onto a rack in the corner, popping a joint in his shoulder before sitting down. He set his mask down on the table, effectively transforming back into Gabriel, or whatever was left of him. Sombra had seen his marred, disfigured face often enough now that she didn't visibly flinch at his appearance, but Lena could tell she still didn't like it.

'I don't remember you being the one in charge,' Gabriel gruffly answered, rubbing his face with both hands. He sat back in his chair with a sigh, chewing the inside of his cheek. 'Would've been nice to shoot him, though. He was _so close...'_ He trailed off, flexing and unflexing his hands as if he was trying to strangle the air between his fingers. Sombra made a face.

'Don't you realize how dangerous this sort of thing is?' She glanced from Gabriel to Lena, who was casually porched against the counter, seemingly lost in thought. Gabriel just grunted in response. Sombra projected a few holoscreens, data running over them. 'Look, you mess up one character in the code, and boom. Everything's gone.' To illustrate, the holoscreen showed a blue crash screen. 'And this is just a computer. You do this with a timeline-'

'The tests went perfectly.' Lena said coldly. She slowly walked towards the table, pulled out a chair and sat across from Sombra, looking her straight in the eyes. She smiled a wicked little smile when she added, '" _Relahate."_ I know what I'm doing.'

'Never say that again,' Sombra recoiled, but then laughed. 'Alright, alright. Just make sure not to mess my timeline up. I refuse to suddenly end up somewhere in a little cottage happily married with two kids or something.'

Gabriel snorted. 'Who would marry _you_?'

'Rude!' Sombra feigned offense. 'Like you're such a womanizer with that face, Gabe.'

Lena shut out their voices. They were too loud. Too _real_. Over the past months, she had come to like the quiet of the nothingness, the cold numbness that came with fading out of time. It gave her time to think, time to hear her own thoughts echoed in her head. To sort herself out.

It helped that nothing really mattered anymore. She didn't feel fear like she used to, or grief, or happiness. Every action simply contributed to the great nothing, every emotion dulled down until it was barely there. The only thing left was a vague longing, something that pulled in her. Pulled her away from this timeline, searching for some sort of satisfaction.

She lived on memories. She found herself going back to a few very distinct ones quite often. Small moments of happiness. She'd hide in the shadows and watch them happen, again and again and again. She told herself she couldn't yearn for people anymore, but every time she saw _her_ , she still did. And when her own memories were not enough, she traveled further back, addicted to the sight of her. Stalking her from her first day at Overwatch to her last.

It had taken her many trips outside of this timeline before she began to see the bigger picture. The endless possibilities. Around the emptiness, the nothing, was a web of possibilities. Choices made. Events happened. Every little thing that shaped her past into what it was.

The lines were clear, but not the borders. Borders could be crossed. Lena had been freed of the shackles of time that bound her in one place, allowing her to traverse her time at will. And the first time she realized that, she fell from her timeline into another. Seemingly the same, but subtly different.

'Hey, Slipstream.' Sombra's eyes flashed brightly, shaking Lena out of her reverie. 'I mean it. Are you listening?'

'No,' Lena admitted, sitting up straighter. 'What were you saying?' She wasn't that interested, but listened for the sake of the peace. She needed them. For now.

'I broke into that Overwatch base for you because I care, okay?' Sombra said, looking away for a second. 'Just… don't waste it.' Lena's fingers caressed the ring on her right hand of their own accord, and a surge of painful cold spread through her chest.

'I know,' Lena answered, 'thank you, Sombra. Don't worry.'

Sombra seemed to deign that as enough of a reassurance, and stood up. Before she walked out, she pointed at Lena one more time. 'I mean it about the cottage!'

Gabriel's laugh was deep and rumbling. He patted Lena on the back and sighed.

'I, for one, am looking forward to seeing Morrison struggle,' he said, overthinking his own words, a vague grin on his face. He stared at his hands, and then at Lena's blank face.

'What's the worst that could happen, that hasn't already happened to us?'

Lena carefully ignored that question, instead she smirked. 'So phase two, then?'

'Phase two it is.'


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I worked really hard to finish this chapter in a timely manner to make up for the giant hiatus.  
Thank you for your comments and support!

* * *

Why going to the Overwatch office seemed like a good idea, Jack couldn't quite recall. He'd stormed out without giving his surroundings much thought, gun still trained at the ready. Now that he finally managed to calm his racing heart, he realized what a risk it had been. Civilians. Armed police forces might have seen him. He'd been lucky it was barely dawn.

He swirled a pen between his trembling fingers. He needed some form of protection. Perhaps funding to restart an Overwatch base. Military assistance. Forces.

The ghostly image of Reaper was burned into his mind's eye, and every time he let his guard down, it reappeared in front of him. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to man up.

'It's just Gabriel,' he muttered to himself, trying his hardest to actually believe it. He knew what the man could do, what a _threat_ he had become- but what frightened him most were the things he didn't know. They'd trained together, grown together as soldiers. Reaper would know every tactic he threw at him, but Jack was unsure about what Gabriel had become. What he was capable of. He'd ambushed him twice now, left him alive just so he could gloat about it. Once more robbed him of his chance to end this feud for good.

'Defenses, some sort of barrier…' he murmured, flipping open the laptop. Surely, there was something he could do about this? A voice in the back of his mind told him to apologize to Ana later, and he made a mental note not to forget.

A red glitter reflected on his laptop screen. He grabbed his gun, instantly turned. Behind him was the small, lithe form of Lena Oxton. The red glow of her accelerator menacingly highlighted the smirk on her face. She blinked to the side, avoiding his gunfire. The wallpaper blew to bits behind her, leaving dust and pieces of plaster strewn throughout the room.

'Ready or not,' she sing-songed, suddenly blinking in front of him. 'Here we go.'

As sudden as she had appeared, she was gone. Jack took a few deep breaths, listening carefully for any sign of life. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and he kept his gun raised before him, ready to shoot again. A drop of water fell down and hit his boot with an echoing _thwip_.

A thick layer of dust covered the concrete floor. Now that he really looked around, he didn't see the bullet marks in the wall in front of him. There was no wallpaper, just bare concrete. Even though the building had been shabby before, now it seemed unfinished. There were angry slogans in red graffiti on the wall to his right. On the ceiling was a large damp stain, occasionally dripping down brownish liquid.

He turned around to find his desk gone, his paperwork gone, his laptop gone. He was alone in a room in a building that had never been finished. When he looked outside, the street down below looked quite ordinary, though there was a newspaper stand he'd never seen before. He moved onto the corridor, and felt the cold breeze streaming in. The hallway to his left had never been finished, old scaffolding still in place, the tarp covering it looking torn and stained. There were deep cracks in the concrete ceiling, running the length of the hallway.

'This is a fucking mess,' Jack cursed, setting down his weapon and carefully finding his way towards the staircase. He opened the door and thanked his training for his extreme reflexes.

Where once the stairwell had been, was now just an empty hole. Some scaffolding had been built, but not nearly high enough for him to climb onto. After a moment's consideration, he closed the door. He didn't really want to, but the scaffolding outside would have to do. That meant he couldn't take his gun – which made him vulnerable. On the other hand, staying here also did nothing for his chances. He needed to find a way back.

Resentment bitter in his mouth, he hid the gun in a corner, covering it with scrap wood from the scaffolding. With any luck, he'd be able to pick it up later – at night perhaps, when carrying the huge thing would not be so obvious.

The wind was a tangible force this high up, whipping around him as soon as he stepped outside. Jack climbed onto the scaffolding, hopped on the edge and swung one story down, carried by the strength in his arms. When he landed, the rickety wood creaked and moaned under him. Splinters of wood shot away, clattering down the metal beams. Thread lightly, he reminded himself. God knows how old this construction is. He carefully climbed down another story, and found an old rope there. Testing it under his boot, pulling to check for breakage, he deemed it sturdy enough. With a heavy grunt he swung the rope over the scaffolding and tied it off. After wrapping a strip of tarp around his palms, he grabbed the rope and climbed down the last two stories. His boots touched the earth with a dull thud, and sweet relief flooded his chest. Morrison was not particularly afraid of heights, but it never hurt to be careful.

'What are you doing there?'

An old man called out to him, tall as a tree and with massive shoulders. A scar ran over his left eye, that had turned white and was probably blind. A twinge of recognition sparked in Jack, but he hesitated on acting on it. What if this too, was a trick?

'I'm a,' he quickly rid his hands of the tarp and tried to act casual, 'I'm a construction worker.' For added effect, he tapped the visor once. Vaguely he hoped the man would think it was a respirator of some sorts. The old man laughed, loud and heartily. Jack knew it for certain then- he definitely knew him. But he hadn't seen Reinhardt since Overwatch and frankly was glad that he remained incognito. The last thing he needed was for more people to get swept up in this madness.

'You are late, son! This office has been abandoned for years.'

'Years?' Morrison questioned. He glanced over the building again. From the outside, it looked even worse. Years of smog and vandalism had done the building no good. The concrete had chipped in places, deep cracks running through all sides. 'What about the offices? The Vienna government?'

'Found a better place. Beautiful building, built by those foreigners- what's the name- oh, Vishkar!' Reinhardt followed his gaze with an apologetic look. 'It's a shame, but their hardlight technology is astounding. The choice was obvious.'

There was a silence between them. Jack wondered if Reinhardt was always this comfortable with strangers. 'I see,' he finally said, unsure what else to say. It would make very little sense to talk about what he had experienced. To this man, this Reinhardt, the building had never even been completed. He hadn't even known Reinhardt to be in Vienna. Perhaps, he hadn't been, before?

Jack's head hurt thinking about this. Reinhardt took it as a cue to start talking again.

'So did you go in there and spray anti-omnic propaganda?'

'I-what?' Morrison stammered, then uprighted his back, 'Do I look like a teenager to you?'

Reinhardt laughed, but then his face turned serious. 'I'd rather you vandalize than that you'd be an actual criminal. You seem like a good lad.' He peered at the visor, trying to see any trace of Morrison's face. 'What were you doing in the concrete dump, son?'

'I lost my way,' Morrison lamely admitted. He didn't want to think about how true that statement really was.

'Well, best you find it, before the enforcers come 'round.'

'I will,' Morrison nodded, looking around to gather his bearings. 'And thank you, old friend.'

'I'm not thát old!' Reinhardt bellowed, laughing, and slapped him on the back with a meaty hand. 'Stay on the right path!' He waved as he walked away, leaving Morrison more than a little dazed. He decided to walk the opposite direction of where Reinhardt had gone, towards the main street.

A slender omnic manned the newspaper stand. She had been equipped with a female voice module, which gave her a pleasant, motherly tone.

' Breaking news!' she called out, 'Akande Ogundimu escapes prison! Read all about it!'

Morrison's brow furrowed. More Talon activity. Just what he needed. Perhaps he could get some information, and maybe a map. He needed to find his way back to the government, to Overwatch.

When he approached the stand, the machine greeted him with practiced ease. 'Good day, sir! Newspaper?'

'Ah, yes, please,' Morrison stammered, feeling his pockets. To his luck, he found a credit card stashed away, glad he hadn't taken all of his belongings out of his pockets yet. It was strange, interacting with a machine this way. He gave his card to the machine and she carefully scanned it. Then she smoothly reached for a stack of portable projectors, without having to look where they were. In the same fluid movement, she gave one to him, his credit card carefully balanced on top.

'Do you also sell maps?' he asked, tentatively. The omnic cocked her head.

'Maps?'

'Yes, to – get around?'

'I can install a navigation module on your paper, sir. It's only a minor extra charge. Everything is hardlight nowadays!'Her voice was surprisingly animated for a machine. When she spoke, he could almost hear a friendly enthusiasm. 'But if it's somewhere specific you need to be, I can give you directions?'

'Ah, well, city hall?' Morrison asked tentatively. 'I'm looking for Overwatch HQ..'

The omnic stiffened. She hesitated a few moments before she spoke, 'You won't find anything like that around here, sir.' Then, as she spotted another customer, she greeted him rather bluntly, 'Good day.'

'I'll take a newspaper too,' a young woman asked next to him, brown hair stuffed under a flat cap, throwing a credit chip on the counter. The woman took the projector, tipped her hat to the omnic and turned. As she walked by, Morrison saw a flash of teeth in a wicked grin. Brown eyes dulled, narrowed dangerously. A whisper sending chills down his spine, 'hello, Jack.'

'Oxton!' He roared, and charged at her. Before his fist could make contact with her skin, there was a red-tinted flash, and in a blink, she was gone.

.

Lena effortlessly fell into another timeline. She counted the amount of steps it took to get back to her own, as she skipped through the web of possibilities. There was a certain enjoyment in seeing the world evolve, in seeing the butterfly effect play out in different ways.

She scoured around, looking for another string to pull, someone to switch Jack's places with next. She'd let him live all these miserable lives until he'd beg her for mercy. And then she wouldn't stop. Oh no.

She fell through into another timeline, floating, not exactly materialized but ghostly enough to take in her surroundings. A Talon base, beautifully expanded, carefully kept. In this universe, Talon had already won. She recounted her steps. Quite a long way from home.

She fell through again. It was a pleasant kind of feeling, like being caressed with a layer of silk. The same Talon base. Busier, this time. Talon mercenaries crawling over the transport platform.

She went inside, unseen, only fully materializing in the empty corridor. She felt a strange sort of nervous excitement, not really overwhelming, but her heart was beating ever so slightly faster. One more? Maybe just one step further?

The glow on her chest shone red and she prepared to fall into the next layer. The accelerator hummed, the light almost blinding her. She ground her teeth, gave the machine another go, with more vigor this time. The accelerator roared, and she felt the familiar feeling of the border being crossed. However this time, it was like the border was thick, gooey. The substance was sticky and refused to let her through- until it snapped and she fell, hard. Materialized completely, she scraped her knees on the concrete floor of the Talon base.

'Agent Slipstream!' a hard voice behind her barked. Lena shot up, turned and aimed her guns. She had to look up to see the man's face, his dark skin marked with white warpaint. On his right arm, a golden gauntlet shone. She recognized the artifact, and then the face, and decided that lowering her guns right away would be a very good idea. The man did not seem intimidated by her or her weapons in the slightest, instead he lowered his voice and growled, 'Transport platform. _Now_.'

'Yes, sir!' Lena said, standing at attention. She immediately started moving, briskly walking past him, towards safety. Her chronal accelerator's light had dimmed slightly, indicating that it was still charging. _Bollocks_.

Lena quickly calculated her options. She could hide somewhere, wait for her accelerator to recharge, and get the hell out of here- which by all means would be the best option. Yet a thought kept gnawing at her mind, telling her to stay, to investigate. The Talon base seemed so similar to the others, in the different timelines, so what made this one special? Why hadn't the border let her through like the others?

She made her way up the stairs, and hid behind some crates. She could see part of the platform from this corner, and keep an eye on the corridor. Heavy footsteps had her ducking away, out of sight. She held her breath as she heard Reaper's dark voice rasp just on the other side of the crates.

'Slipstream not here yet?'

'Haven't seen her,' Sombra chirped, 'you?'

'Don't look at me,' a third voice answered, laced with amusement, French accent thick on her tongue, 'I had nothing to do with it.'

Lena felt her heart stop. _That voice_. Suddenly her heart rushed in her throat like it hadn't done in months, a feeling that was ice cold and red hot at the same time spreading down her neck. It couldn't be, could it? Was it possible?

She could jump out of cover. Casually walk around, like she'd meant to do so all along. She could greet her, like- like _nothing had happened-_

'Sorry for the delay!' Light, running steps coming closer. An eerily familiar voice. 'Ran into Doomfist- he's a little nutty, don't you think? Said it was my second warning.'

'Perhaps he was being friendly? If we're counting all of your warnings, you would have more than two, _amiga_.'

'Look who's talking!'

Lena felt cold fear close into her heart, replacing whatever twisted elation there had been. This was wrong- this was so utterly wrong. She wasn't supposed to run into _herself_ in any other timeline. There were not supposed to be any others. There _had never been_ any others.

Suddenly she felt nauseous, guilty like a child that knows it's doing something it's not supposed to. Her accelerator glowed once more, ready to go. Lena sank through her knees, rested her forehead against the cool metal crate. She needed to go, but she couldn't. Not with her so close by.

'Quit your squabbling,' Reaper growled, 'we have work to do.'

'Are you ready to leave, Lena?' Widowmaker asked, her voice soft. So silky. So cherished. No, Lena wanted to answer, I want to stay a little longer. I want to hear you speak to me again. I want to make up for all the suffering I caused you. Lena's face twisted in grief, but she had no more tears to shed.

'I was born ready!' Other Lena cheered. Slipstream's accelerator hummed, and with a roar of its engine, she fell back into time.

.

Sombra had fifteen different holoscreens in front of her, switching them out as she pleased, finding information in every nook and cranny, whether it was protected or unprotected. She twirled in her chair, gleefully loading a virus onto the factory's main servers. Soon, all the profits would be transferred directly to her untraceable account in Switzerland. A little extra cash never hurt anyone.

A loud thump made her look over her shoulder. Lena had appeared on Sombra's bed, falling rather like a limp doll, her arm hanging off the side. Sombra stared at her with wide eyes for a couple of seconds, before she groaned, and Sombra let out a sigh of relief.

' _Dios mio_ , I thought you were dead for a second,' she said, rising from her chair to come closer to Lena. 'Are you alright? You're usually more graceful about all this.'

'I feel like shit,' Lena moaned into the mattress. 'I think I'm going to be sick.'

'Please go be sick in your own room, okay, chica?' Sombra pulled her upright, so that she sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling down. When Lena's ashen face came into view, Sombra halted her movement, supporting her with her palm flat on her chest. 'Damn, Tracer. What have you done?'

'I went too far, I think.'

A second of silence passed where Sombra struggled very hard not to say any variant of "I told you so". Finally, after closing her eyes and rubbing her temples in frustration, she settled for, 'what makes you say that?'

'She was there,' Lena whimpered, a single tear rolling down her cheek. 'That's why I was not supposed to be there.'

'Wait- what are you on about?' Sombra discreetly clicked a recording device, then turned to Lena, and reassuringly grabbed her hands. 'Explain.'

'I found a timeline where she survived, Sombra.' Lena resolutely wiped the tear from her cheek with her sleeve. 'But there was another me there. No- there was a Lena there.'

' _Dios mio_.'

'Yeah, you can say that again.'

'Did you change anything?' Sombra asked, slightly nervous. Lena shook her head.

'I don't think so.'

'I don't want to be mean, but "I don't think so" is not very reassuring,' Sombra pursed her lips. 'Did anyone see you?'

Lena slowly nodded. 'Yes. Doomfist. But he thought I was her.'

'Oh my god.' Sombra said, averting her gaze. She bit her long, purple nails as she thought. Then she suddenly stood up. 'If anything had changed, we would know by now, yes?'

'I guess so,' Lena shrugged, then closed her eyes once more. 'I heard her voice, Sombra. She was talking to me. Well, not to me. But it felt like she was.' Lena expected another quip, but nothing came. Instead, Sombra clasped her hands together, her head turned away to hide her face.

'Did she look, well, normal?' She asked, and her shoulders sagged a little bit. For the first time, Lena could see through the sarcasm and saw a glitter of genuine grief there.

'I don't know,' Lena shook her head, 'I couldn't see her.'

'And I was there too?' Sombra then asked, shaking the vulnerability out of her stance and replacing it with determination. She pulled up a holoscreen, and touched it with one purple nail, temporarily halting the progress on the screen. Lena just shrugged and nodded.

Sombra narrowed her eyes in thought, nodding slowly. Then she quickly typed something on the screen, before making it disappear with a wave of her hand.

'You really need some rest. Let me take you to your room.'

'My cell,' Lena corrected her. Sombra smiled.

'Nothing gets past you, eh Slipstream?' She gently grabbed her hand to lead her away. 'Come on. You're going to get some sleep, I have work to do.'


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: If it weren't for that extremely talented necromancer, the author would still be dead

* * *

Jack didn't want to open his eyes. Didn't want to face the possibility of the ceiling not being the same. Didn't want to _deal_ with this anymore.

It was hard to believe it had only been two weeks, _two weeks_ , since this madness began. There had been nine 'switches', as he ended up calling them, so far. Nine times that wretched bitch Oxton had shown her sneering mug. Some switches were subtle. Some not so much.

He currently found himself in a hotelroom in Venice. He'd been on a train to Bratislava when the conductor wore a bright red chronal accelerator and suddenly the train's final destination had been Salzburg, and- ugh. He'd stopped trying to explain it. It felt like one of those semi-lucid dreams where you're fully aware of what's happening, but the world around you makes no sense.

Jack threw an arm over his forehead, taking two seconds to remember his visor was no longer there. Panic set into his chest so hard he physically tensed, so he focused solely on his breathing for three deep, slow breaths. Right. It had been gone ever since the train. He hadn't quite gotten over it yet. It took at last a minute until he felt calm enough to slide his arm down and feel his face with his fingers.

Rough, callused fingertips pressed into his cheek, the bridge of his nose, his browbone. He slid his hand further to cover his mouth, the moisture of his breath strangely unfamiliar. There were no scars. He let that thought sink in, then felt for them again. Gone, gone gone gone gone _gone-_

No. Jack refused to succumb to madness. He opened his eyes and was disproportionally relieved that he recognized the ceiling of the hotel. He'd paid for this room. Everything was still as it had been for the last 12 hours. 12 hours of stability was good.

He briefly entertained the thought of simply staying here, trying to outlive whatever Oxton was planning, but he quickly dismissed it. There was no outrunning _time_ , not for normal mortals, anyway. The grim thought that normal mortals might become a minority at some point made him grit his teeth. With a groan he stood up and walked over to the bathroom.

He blindly felt for the tap and let icy cold water run over his overheated hands and wrists. The cold was grounding, numbing for a small moment. He splashed the water on his too-smooth face, now also noticing a lack of stubble. He'd never been gifted with a full beard, but after a day or two the stubble should have been more than noticeable. With a grimace, he looked up into the mirror, at himself.

It was.. not as bad as he expected. The buzzed, graying hair, the shape of his face, the dark rings under his eyes- those were familiar. Those were good. But the smooth skin caught him off guard, the 5-o'clock shadow only just starting to show. He traced one fingertip over where his scars should have been, and suddenly wondered,

'How did I get those scars again?'

.

' _Dios mio_ , what am I going to do with this?' Sombra swiped aside a screen, only to conjure up three more. Her room was dark, aside for the violet lights, reflecting in her trained eyes. She flicked them from left to right, searching, scouring. Her databases were nothing less than extensive, and while knowledge was power, looking for that one piece of information in her vast network of data was.. for lack of a better metaphor, like looking for a needle in a haystack. Overwatch research data was so… disorganized.

She'd started out with the chronal accelerator's blueprints – a piece of cake, really. She'd had those for _ages_. But that was not what she was after now. Sombra had to dig deeper, to the very beginning. To the timewarping abilities of the-

'A-ha! Bingo.' The Slipstream fighter jet. She couldn't help a giddy giggle as she traced her long nails over the document, releasing a few decoders to decipher the password.

Next to her, her communicator beeped. She blew a raspberry in frustration before she picked it up.

'What do you want, Gabe?'

'Is Slipstream with you?' There was something about his voice. Sombra couldn't quite place it.

'Haven't seen her in a while, no.' A blip on the screen indicated the password had been cracked, and Sombra leaned forward as she opened the file.

'When's the last time you saw her?' There was a _strain_ on his voice. That was it. Like he just came off the treadmill or something.

'Last record of being on base is from,' a little flick of her wrist brought up a list of data, which she quickly glanced at, 'two hours ago,' Sombra huffed, zooming in on a concept render of the Slipstream airplane. She turned it over, inspecting it before swiping to the next page. 'I'm actually kind of busy, Gabe.'

'Yeah, but did you _see_ her _?'_ Reaper insisted. Definitely strained. Also a little annoying at this point.

'Honestly Gabe,' Sombra frowned and shook her head at her screen, as if he could see her. 'If it's so important, ask her yourself. What're you interrogating me for?'

'I-' Reaper _hesitated_. That was new. It was interesting enough that Sombra halted her movements, glancing at her communicator, waiting for what came next. 'It's nothing,' he then said, resolutely, disconnecting the call right after.

'Nothing, huh,' Sombra grinned, archiving the call right away. 'Ohh, I like 'll see what _nothing_ entails. But first…' she opened the file. '"Chronal acceleration for military transport purposes, a clinical trial in extratemporal mobility." Perfect.'

'Everything can be hacked, after all,' Sombra enlarged the file, swiping away a few other screens to make space for it. 'Let's see if time is an exception.'

.

'Good day, sir,' Slipstream skipped through the hall, saluting cheerfully at Doomfist, who simply nodded at her in return. She'd worked out, handed in her reports, got her checkups with Moira – everything was going swimmingly today. _I might even have some free time today_ , she thought, a grin on her face. Being on the winning team is great.

She rounded the corner with a little skip, expertly avoiding Reaper and his coffee, no thank you sir, I know better than to spill it on you. Two more corners, dancing the last steps to a beat in her head. She didn't care who saw. The numpad next to the door beeped as she punched in the code and opened it. 'Hey Amé! You in?'

'Hmm?' came from the bed. Widowmaker raised an elegant brow, only lifting her eyes enough to stare at Slipstream over the datapad she held as she lounged, legs primly crossed.

'Happy to see me?'

'Hmm,' she answered non-committally, and resumed reading. That was, obviously, an invitation to enter. Slipstream knew thát much. She closed the door, then jumped on the bed.

'That all you gonna say, love?' She crawled forward on all fours until her face hovered just above the datapad. She could see the corners of Widowmaker's mouth twitch ever so slightly as she kept her eyes trained on the datapad.

'….Hmmm,' Amélie finally answered, straining not to laugh. It was barely noticeable, but Slipstream knew where to look.

'Oh come _on_ ,' she whined, adding in some extra drama. Then she ducked under Amélie's arm, turning on her side to lay next to her, pressing her cheek into Amelie's collarbone. 'What'cha readin'?'

'Classified documents,' Widowmaker answered, resolutely shutting down the datapad and putting it down next to her. 'What brings you here?'

'Just to see you,' Slipstream beamed. 'I finished first, so-' She was interrupted by Widowmaker snorting through her nose, and feigned offense, laughing with her. 'Don't _laugh_ at that! God, you're so immature!'

' _I_ am immature?' Widowmaker could not have sounded more incredulous if she tried. There was that typical hidden smile again, though. The one that made Lena feel a little lightheaded.

'Yes! I just meant that I'm all done with my chores and stuff.' Slipstream puffed up her cheeks in fake embarrassment.

'Ah,' Widowmaker nodded, a sarcastic smirk playing on her face. ' _Bien sûr_.'

'Insufferable. That's what you are, you know!' Slipstream could make an insult still sound endearing. It was one of her better qualities. And it always worked on Amélie, as proven by her little smirk and the arm she snaked under Slipstreams shoulders to pull her closer.

'You are starting to sound like Gabriel,' Amélie murmured into Slipstream's windswept hair. 'So why are you here, my annoyance?'

Slipstream's answer was lost in the curve between Amélie's neck and jawline as she peppered little kisses to the skin. It was moments like these that she really enjoyed, as Amélie would close her eyes and sigh, taut muscles relaxing for a single heartbeat.

'Actually, Lena,' Widowmaker suddenly sat up a bit, ignoring the pout on Slipstream's face, 'I really do have to read these documents. Also, my rifle is still in maintenance- would you mind getting it for me?'

'Sure,' Slipstream huffed, 'ammo too I presume? Same place as last time?'

'You read my mind,' Amélie truly smiled at her this time. Okay, that was worth it.

'Alright. See ya in a bit, love!' With a final chaste kiss and a salute, Slipstream hopped back on her feet and danced backwards out of the room. She closed it carefully again, and walked the long hall, down the stairs to maintenance. She didn't need to say anything as she approached the armory, as a man wearing a dark Talon uniform simply put a sleek, dark purple case on the counter. She wondered how long she would still be able to pick up Widowmaker's weapons for her like this, because she was fairly certain Sombra had taken out Reaper's shotguns at some point for some unauthorized modifications, and there was going to be hell to pay when he found out. She couldn't wait to see it, though. Might need to bring her card next time. She swiped the case with practiced ease.

Through the dark grey door in the back was storage. The door was half opened and heavy, so she slipped around it. It was dark inside, but her chronal accelerator and the light leaking in from the doorway was enough for her to see.

'Laser charges, smoke bombs… I need rifle ammo. Where did you go now?' she muttered, looking around for the right crate. She put the rifle case down to walk around, checking crate signs and gnawing her cheek.

A sudden, heavy metallic groan shook her from her concentration, and she looked up just in time to see the door fall closed. 'Hey!' she cried, as the _clang_ of the doors hitting each other echoed through the hall.

First there was just the ringing in her ears, but then she heard the familiar buzz and sputter of her accelerator recharging. She looked down at her device, strapped firmly to her chest, and felt around it. It hummed contently, not a sign of it being overcharged.

In the corner of her eye she saw the flicker of red light, and turned on her heel, pistols at the ready.

'Show your-' She turned towards the light, but trailed off as soon as she saw who was behind her, '-self…'

For a moment, she thought it was her reflection. She laughed nervously at her own overreaction, but then she lowered her guns and her reflection didn't. Instead, her reflection removed the safety of her pistols with an echoing _click_.

'Hiya,' her reflection deadpanned. There was a silence as she just stared, brain working overtime to process what she was seeing. This was mental, absolutely bonkers. She'd gone mad, yeah? That had to be it. Slipstream swallowed a thick lump in her throat.

Her eyes strained to see the woman before her. The hair, the outfit, the anchor… it was her, to the most minute details. Except the face, she noticed. Her face was pale, hinting blue in the neck, even in the red light of their accelerators. It was a Lena, alright. Just not _this_ Lena. She tried desperately to find some sort of explanation for this. Had some sort of time-error happened? Did she accidentally get copied in a timeloop? Had she blinked too many times?

'You have _everything_ ,' the Other Lena spat, venom in her voice, 'that I have worked for. That I _ever_ wanted.'

The words took time to sink in, and slowly, Slipstream began to understand. She had to look inside herself to find out what was happening. She felt her deepest fears, and what would happen if they came true. The copy before her… it was from a world like that.

'Let's not be hasty now,' Slipstream carefully gripped her guns tighter, making sure to move slowly, trying to give herself more time to think. She had to do _something_ , anything, to buy herself time, maybe call for backup. If this was a Lena from another time? World? Then she would know all her weaknesses. She would probably be more prepared for this. Slipstream felt she was at a disadvantage, and it scared her. All her secrets laid bare because they were no longer only _her_ secrets. 'Who are you?' she asked, a little breathless. She did not really want to hear the answer.

'Exactly what you think I am.' The other Lena cracked her neck. The ashen colour of her face looked like a pale mask. 'I am you. I am the you you'll never become,' she growled deep in her throat, 'I am the you that survives this encounter.'

Instinct kicked in. Slipstream had no time to be confused – no matter what kind of trick this was. She had to think on her heels. She needed to come out on top. What are _my_ weak points? What would make _me_ back off _?_

'Love, I got my aim directly on ya anchor. Is this really the route you wan'ta go?' It was a gamble.

It worked. She could see those twisted features softening, and _God, this is so weird_ , felt the air relax. There was a moment of silence between them. She could see the girl before her chew on her cheeks, ah, is that what that looks like? Awful. She quietly vowed to ditch the habit.

'I just want to see her,' Other Lena suddenly whispered. There was a change in the tension between them. It took a moment for Lena to register what the copy meant. With the realization, she felt cold fear run down her neck, and the appearance made a lot more sense.

'What- no.' She said, resolutely. And then added, with even more confidence, 'Out of the question.' She shook her head and gestured with her gun for good measure, 'she don't need any of _this_. Any of it. It's fucking mental to begin with!' She heard herself laugh and it sounded just slightly unstable.

'You don't understand.' Other Lena hissed, raising her gun back up threateningly. 'I'll do anything. I'll kill you if I have to.' The Other Lena took a step forward. Slipstream felt the back of her thigh pressing into a crate. Damn it.

'You don't know what you're doing. You can't do that. You don't even truly exist here.' It made sense in Slipstream's head, for the moment. She was unsure of how this all worked, but she knew one thing: she'd protect Amélie with every fiber of her being.

'But you do,' Other Lena smiled, the red light from her accelerator illuminating her face from below, showing her dilated pupils, her nostrils blown wide, her chattering teeth. 'I just need you to create a vacancy.'

Slipstream closed her eyes for a moment, sucking in cold air. She felt it spread through her chest, grounding and reassuring, and then looked back at her adversary, this ghostly image of herself.

'You won't find what you're looking for. Even though you look like me, she'll know. She'll never love **you** _._ '

For one second, the earth was completely still, two ex-Tracers trembling at the sight of each other, guns trained on their vital points, ears ringing with their hollow heartbeats. She looked at the quivering form of her mysterious double. She knew her words had hit home.

A blink, and a sobbing snarl pierced the air. She pulled the trigger, but heard no impact. Felt pain as the grip of a gun slammed hard into Slipstream's temple. She could vaguely register a hollow, howling cry as she sank to her knees, and everything went black.


End file.
